


teach me how to feel

by kiyala



Category: Marvel, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Community: help_japan, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Survivor Guilt, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Steve nor Tony can sleep. When they spend their sleepless nights in each other's company, everything begins to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	teach me how to feel

**Author's Note:**

> This is an embarrassingly late help_japan fic for Charlie. I am so sorry it took me so much time, and so many prompts to get this done /o\
> 
>  
> 
> Also translated into Russian by [sayinside](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sayinside/pseuds/sayinside) [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4037594).

There’s an odd, faraway look in Steve’s eyes sometimes, when he thinks that he’s alone. It makes Tony wonder just how often Steve genuinely believes that he _is_ alone and they really need to talk about that, except _this_ is more important. The way Steve just gets lost in thoughts and Tony has no way of guessing what’s going on in his mind, but it must be unpleasant if it’s making him frown like that.

He settles for leaning against the doorframe and clearing his throat. Steve snaps out of his thoughts, jumping a little as he turns to the door.

“You should try actually _punching_ the bag sometimes,” Tony says, keeping the concern out of his voice as he walks into the room. “I hear that helps.”

Steve’s lips twitch a little at that, the smile there and gone in the blink of an eye. Tony thinks back to the days where a comment like that would have just earned him a glare instead. For the ten minutes that Tony had been standing in the doorway, Steve had just been staring off into space, his thoughts elsewhere. Instead of going back to punching his bag, Steve unhooks it and lays it down against the wall. Unwrapping his hands, he glances over his shoulder at Tony.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy walk around his own house?” Tony asks with casual shrug. “At… three o’clock in the morning?”

“Oh.” Steve glances around at the clock hanging on the wall. “Right. Sorry, was I being too loud?”

“You’re kidding, right? This place is big enough to fit a whole circus.”

Once he’d had Stark Tower rebuilt, Tony had extended invitations to the other Avengers to move in. It was better that they all lived together, he thought, and learned how to work as a proper team, as a unit. He’d been surprised when they all accepted the offer. Thor, of course, is still away in Asgard, but there’s a room waiting for him too when he returns.

Even when they’re sharing the same space, they usually keep to themselves. There are enough floors in Stark Tower that an entire day can pass where none of them run into each other except for when they’re having meals. Both Natasha and Clint are still agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. so they pass in and out between missions, dropping by for a meal or to get some rest. The place actually feels like a proper _house_ now, and it’s been a long time since Tony’s had that.

“You can’t get to sleep either?”

Tony smiles at that. “So you’re not going to bother denying the fact that there’s something troubling you?”

“It’s three A.M.,” Steve replies, stuffing his bandages into his pocket. “Is there any point?”

“Makes sense,” Tony concedes. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

Tony’s favourite sitting room is on the top floor. There’s a large, comfortable leather couch facing the floor-to-ceiling windows. It overlooks the rest of New York City and Tony likes it when the curtains are open, reminding him that the world around him never quite goes to sleep.

The battle against Chitauri had taken its toll on the city; it’s been three months now, and there are still construction sites all over the place, working on repairing the damage.

There’s a coffee machine in the corner of the room; he’s already asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to get it running, so all he needs to do is grab two mugs and pour. Steve nods in appreciation, and they both sit down. There’s a lot of space on the couch but they sit beside each other. They both know there’s a conversation to be had, and there’s really no point in avoiding it.

“So,” Tony finally breaks the silence when he’s drunk half the coffee in his mug. “What’s keeping you up?”

Steve looks up, eyebrows drawn together. His gaze drops back to his coffee mug and Tony doesn’t push, letting Steve’s thoughts sort themselves out. He doesn’t usually have the patience to deal with this kind of thing, but Steve is… different. He’s important. To the team, to the world, but more importantly, to Tony. It’s taken him a long time to get along with Steve and it’s probably taken him even longer to reconcile the differences between the legend he’d grown up hearing about and the actual man himself, but Tony can admit this to himself now. There aren’t very many people in the world whose judgement Tony will trust without question, and there’s only one man he’ll take orders from.

Taking a deep breath, Steve sets his coffee mug down and looks directly at Tony as he speaks. “I spend a lot of time thinking about… before. Before the fight with Red Skull. Before the ice.”

Tony nods. “Right. The good old days.” He knows it’s not the right thing to say when Steve grimaces, but he pretends not to notice.

“I fought alongside a lot of great men.” Steve’s voice has gone soft, his eyes taking on that same faraway look from before. “Soldiers. Friends. And now…”

Steve trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish. Tony understands. He’s seen survivor’s guilt before. He remembers getting home to Malibu after spending months in a cave in the middle of a desert, obsessed with building the Mark II suit and spending every spare moment thinking of the way the light had faded from Yinsen’s eyes.

“They lived full lives,” Tony murmurs. “The S.S.R. worked with the Howling Commandos, right? S.H.I.E.L.D. should have reports on every soldier you fought with. You can see for yourself. Nearly all those men made it home alive. You know who they credited for that?”

Steve’s face twists in grief. “ _Nearly_ all those men.”

Tony looks down at his hands. He remembers hearing stories about Bucky Barnes, about how he had been Steve’s best friend—Steve’s _only_ friend, for a long time. He doesn’t know what to say. This isn’t the kind of thing he can afford to fuck up.

“He shouldn’t have died,” Steve whispers. “I should have been able to save him. What’s the point of being a super soldier if I couldn’t even do that?”

Tony wisely refrains from pointing out that he _did_ save the rest of the world. Instead, he takes a sip of his coffee and says, equally quietly, “I don’t tell a lot of people about this—I left it out of my S.H.I.E.L.D. report because I didn’t really see why they had to know. The doctor that saved my life after I was captured by the Ten Rings? The one who put the magnet in my chest to keep the shrapnel from killing me?”

“Dr. Yinsen,” Steve replies, nodding. “The one who died during your escape.”

“He wasn’t _just_ a doctor, Cap. He was my cellmate. My friend, back when I still thought I didn’t need any. When I planned my escape, I wasn’t the only one who was supposed to get out alive.” Tony runs a hand through his hair and sighs loudly. “Yinsen told me that he had a wife and kid. He’d see them when we got out of there. I had it all planned out. I was going to go home. He was going to see his family again.”

“…He never got to see them.”

Tony laughs, because he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s a strange, unhappy sound and it makes Steve frown with concern. “They were dead all along. He told me just before he died. I stood there and watched him go. I was supposed to get him out of there alive.”

“You know what it’s like,” Steve realises.

“Yeah.” Tony nods. “I only knew Yinsen for a short time, it’s not like we were best friends since we were kids. So maybe I don’t get _everything_ , but the part where you can’t stop hating yourself for being okay? Where you kind of wish that it had been you instead? I get that. That’s exactly how I felt.”

With a quiet sigh, Steve leans back against the couch. “How do you ever get over something like that?”

“He died so I could live,” Tony replies, not even having to think about it. “In the end, all I can do is make sure I don’t waste my life. I’ve been given a second chance, so I’d better make the most out of it. I owe him that much, at the very least.”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly, almost to himself. “Yeah. You’re right about that. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Tony replies, and the strange thing is that he actually means it.

 

«·»

 

Somehow after this, Tony and Steve just fall into this habit. Steve is always awake, no matter how late it is, and Tony usually finds him in the gym. Whether or not they stay there or go up to the lounge depends on their mood that particular night, but they invariably end up sitting down somewhere, coffee in hand, talking until the sun comes up.

Steve hasn’t yet asked Tony what _he’s_ doing awake. Tony appreciates it; he doesn’t really know how to say that he’s kept awake every night by the memory of falling through space, believing that it would be the last thing he ever experienced.

Instead, they talk about their lives; all the trivial small-talk that Tony’s never given a shit about before. It’s different with Captain America. Not only is this the man Tony’s grown up idolising, Steve is the _friend_ he’s fought alongside in at least four minor battles since the Chitauri attack. He learns things about Steve that have absolutely nothing to do with his role on the team, like his favourite food, what he wanted to be as a kid, things that Tony’s never remembered about anyone, up to and including Pepper. It makes him feel a little guilty, but they’d broken up months ago and the pointed looks she keeps giving him when she is in the same room as Tony and Steve make him feel a lot _less_ guilty.

Tony’s always been more than a little bicurious, but Steve is _Steve_. Captain America, for crying out loud. Tony would have better luck with a catholic priest. There aren’t many things Tony wants that he can't have, but he’s not going to waste his time pining over Steve when he can just quietly admire the view instead. Besides, they get along in an entirely different way to how Tony gets along with Bruce. With so little in common, there’s a lot to learn. To Tony’s delight, Steve is just as inquisitive as he is.

“So let me get this straight,” Steve says one night, setting his glass of scotch aside. He might not be able to get drunk, but that hasn’t stopped Tony from making him a drinking buddy. “During the war, Stark Industries was praised for all the weapons development it did, but now they call you the Merchant of Death?”

“Used to,” Tony corrects. “After I was captured, I stopped manufacturing weapons for the public. There are already enough guns and missiles out there in the world with my name on them.”

“Now, the only weapons you make are for the Iron Man suit,” Steve concludes, nodding.

Tony’s received a lot of compliments about the Iron Man suit over the years, along with all the grudging respect and the outright demands to make it public property. Of all the responses, he likes Steve’s the best. Now that they actually get along, Steve has completely opened himself up; he doesn’t try to play the soldier all the time, and his personality shines through with every word, every expression. When he talks about the suit, his eyes light up like a child with a new, amazing invention, and there’s a small grin on his face. He might not understand any of the tech behind it, but that doesn’t stop him from being utterly _delighted_ about it and—yeah, it’s probably bad for Tony’s ego, which is already reaching epic proportions as it is, but he loves it.

“Hey, you wanna have a look at the new trick arrows I’ve been developing for Clint?” Tony asks, taking another sip of his scotch before getting to his feet. There are already a wide range of arrows in Clint’s quiver and Tony absolutely loves the challenge of coming up with new things. Steve has taken a fascination in looking at all the designs, so it works out well for both of them.

“Do you even need to ask?” Steve follows Tony down to the garage, where the newest arrows are on display. He picks up the one nearest to him and holds it up.

“Careful with that one,” Tony says, plucking it out of Steve’s hand and settling it back down onto its stand. “Don’t want it going off by accident.”

“Explosives?” Steve guesses.

“Paralysis,” Tony replies. “Stark Industries created this prototype years ago—a handheld device that would emit a sound that would cause short-term paralysis. Terrifying stuff, let me tell you. Especially if it’s happening to you.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you tested it on yourself.”

“No.” Tony’s smile falters for a brief moment, but Steve catches it anyway, frowning immediately.

“Tony…?”

“You’ve read my files. You know how Obadiah Stane stole my arc reactor to power his Iron Monger suit?”

“ _No_.” Steve’s eyes widen in horror. “That’s terrible. I… I mean, I’ve read about it, but…”

“It’s different to hear it,” Tony finishes, nodding. He’s had that same experience with all the stories Steve’s told him. “I know.”

“So the arrow…?” Steve asks in a weak attempt to change the topic of conversation. Tony, thankful for it, goes along with it.

“It should be useful if we’re ever in a situation where we need to take someone down quickly but need to use them later. Clint bags them, Natasha interrogates them, we get the information we’re after. Nice and easy.”

“They’ve been working together longer than the rest of us,” Steve says, nodding approvingly. “It’s a good idea to keep them teamed up.”

“Exactly.” Tony grins. “I have all the best ideas.”

“Really?”

“Okay, not _all the time_ ,” Tony allows, “but you have to admit…”

Shaking his head, Steve sighs. “One day, I’m actually going to keep a count of how many times you try to make me call you a genius in a twenty-four hour period.”

Tony would reply, but Steve chooses that moment to walk further into the garage, actually greeting Tony’s robots. Butterfingers clicks his mechanical fingers together in reply and Dummy whirrs. The first time Steve had said hello to Dummy, he’d been doused with a fire extinguisher. Steve stands a safe distance away now and Dummy no longer sprays anything. It’s been a learning process that has amused Tony to no end.

“You’re going to have to stop doing that,” he tells Steve. “You’re only going to encourage them.”

“They’re robots,” Steve replies, looking over his shoulder, but he’s smiling.

“They’re _clever_ robots, thank you. I built them, after all.”

“ _With help, of course_ ,” J.A.R.V.I.S. speaks up.

Steve looks up at the ceiling—he always does that when J.A.R.V.I.S. is talking—and laughs. “Of course you programmed your artificial intelligence to have just as much attitude as you do.”

“Of course I did,” Tony replies easily. “Can you imagine it any other way? If I’d just given him the bare minimum? He’d be terrible company.”

“Company?” Steve laughs a little at that, but he quickly stops when he realises that Tony isn’t joking. He frowns a little, trying to understand. “What kind of company can a _computerised voice_ give you? Uh… no offense, J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“ _None taken, Captain Rogers_ ,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replies. Tony grins when Steve jumps a little.

“I’m a resourceful guy,” Tony says with a shrug, not quite believing that he’s going to talk to _Steve_ about this. He hasn’t told anyone—not even Pepper. “I’m pretty good at making do with what I have in the absence of other alternatives.”

“You built J.A.R.V.I.S. to keep you company,” Steve realises, his voice hushed with wonder.

“Well technically, I built him because it was easier to have someone read things out to me instead of looking up at a screen all the time, especially when I was working on other things. But when I realised that he could serve multiple functions… well, I thought, why the hell not?”

“You actually built your own friend.” Steve actually sounds surprised by this… and a little sad.

“I didn’t have any other friends,” Tony replies simply.

“You know that’s different now, right? You’ve got us. You’ve got the whole team.”

“Wow, are you seriously pitying me right now? When you’re the one who spent your childhood getting beaten up?”

“I could handle it,” Steve sounds dismissive. Tony has _seen_ the medical reports from before the serum and that is an outright lie. Steve must guess what he’s thinking because he grins. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Tony nods, conceding the point. “So am I. We’re nice and resilient, aren’t we?”

“I guess we are,” Steve smiles. “And you got J.A.R.V.I.S. out of everything, didn’t you? I can’t think of anyone else in the entire world who would be better suited to having a computer that talks back to them.”

Tony laughs at that. Talking to Steve about this is nowhere near as difficult as he’d thought it would be. Admittedly, it _is_ Steve. Tony really shouldn’t be all that surprised.

 

«·»

 

When the rest of the team starts getting curious about him and Steve, Tony ignores it. They’ve taken to spending more and more time together; not only do they spend their sleepless nights keeping each other company with drinks and good conversation, they begin spending more of the day with each other as well. These days, Steve is usually found wherever Tony is, most often sitting in the garage with a sketchpad in his lap, the doodling idly as Tony works on whatever he’s building this time. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t, and it doesn’t matter either way. They have each other’s company and somehow, that’s reassuring in itself.

Whenever Natasha drops by Stark Tower, she looks between Tony and Steve with a raised eyebrow. She never actually asks what’s going on, but it’s clear enough in her expression. Tony doesn’t really know how to say that the correct answer is _nothing_. It’s already an established fact that there is never going to be anything between him and Steve Rogers. It doesn’t even bear second thought, it’s that obvious. He shrugs off the looks and the unspoken questions because really, the team’s probably just weirded out by the fact that he and Steve are actually getting along. It hasn’t been that long since they could barely stand being in the same room without an argument breaking out. When Tony doesn’t get along with someone, he doesn’t get along with them loudly and publicly, and he barely ever changes his mind. That’s probably just it.

It doesn’t matter that their late-night conversations are getting more and more personal; Steve talking about how he’d always looked up to Bucky when they were growing up, how he’d always wanted to be bigger, stronger, kinder, just like his best friend. Tony talks about his parents, about his father, and about how the easy-going Howard Stark that Steve knew was gone by the time Tony was a kid. It’s comforting to talk about it, but Tony doubts that this would be the case with anyone else. Steve just has something about him that puts Tony at ease, makes him think, _I trust you_ , and that’s never come easily for Tony, not with anyone.

They’re in the lounge one night, sprawled on the large leather couch as Steve recounts a battle from the war for the umpteenth time. Tony loves hearing about them; Steve remembers them perfectly, can always tell one apart from another, telling everything in linear order. Not many people can manage that, their facts getting jumbled up and the actual interesting bits getting lost in all the, _wait did this happen before or after that?_ Steve is different. He credits the Super Soldier serum, but Tony honestly doesn’t care _why_ he’s such a good story-teller, he just leans back against the couch and lets Steve’s voice wash over him, imagining the battlefield in clear detail, down to the position of the trees. He can close his eyes and just imagine Steve in his Captain America costume from all the old pictures, leading his troupe of men out and…

…And then Tony’s falling, the stars all around him fading in the bright light of the explosion, thinking, _this is the end_ …

He wakes with a start, his face damp with sweat. “ _Steve_.”

“Tony. Tony, I’m right here. Calm down.” There’s a large hand on his cheek and Tony turns his face into it unthinkingly, taking deep breaths, his entire body trembling.

“Steve,” he gasps again, and then he realises; _Steve_. That’s Steve’s hand that he’s pressing his face into. Steve’s other hand is on his shoulder, comforting him. He sits up, forcefully pulling himself away from Steve’s touch.

He can’t believe that just happened. Right in front of Steve, of all people. He’s never going to live the humiliation down.

But when he looks into Steve’s eyes, all he sees is concern. He’s being watched closely, those blue eyes cataloguing every small detail of Tony’s expression.

“Are you okay?”

He doesn’t expect Steve to sound so damn _scared_. He laughs shakily, bringing his own hand to his face. He tries to answer, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Tony.” Steve’s hand is on his shoulder once again and it’s gripping tightly, too tight for Tony to move away this time, not that he has any space to do so. Steve is frowning now. “Tell me what’s going on. I’ve let you pretend that you were fine for long enough.”

“Nothing,” Tony says automatically, and shakes his head. “Right, that’s a lie and you probably know it. Look, can we just not talk about it right now?”

“We’re talking about it.”

Sighing heavily, Tony looks up to meet Steve’s gaze. It’s unwavering, determined, just like the rest of him. Tony hates it and loves it at the same time. Yeah—he _loves_ it. How about that.

“It’s why I don’t sleep,” Tony says quietly, like anyone else is even awake to overhear. He explains the nightmares, the fact that every time he tries to sleep, he gets woken by the sensation of falling, the fear that he’s just going to fall _forever_. It’s why his diet contains five times the caffeine it did before. It’s part of why he and Pepper aren’t together any more. It’s even part of why he and Steve have this _thing_ , whatever it is.

“It’s changed everything,” Tony concludes bitterly. “I can’t—I’m never going to go back to who I used to be. You know. That guy who never lost a minute of sleep in his entire life.”

“Hey.” Steve’s voice is steady and calming, even now. “You’re just looking at it the wrong way. When you got kidnapped by the Ten Rings, you came home changed then too, remember? It’s something that _happens_. Trust me, I know how unwelcome change can be. But it’s something you have to deal with because there’s no other choice. And hey, it’s not always a bad thing. You think we’d be talking even half as much as we do now, if it wasn’t for the fact that you can’t sleep, and you realised I can’t sleep either? You think I would have learned so much about the present world without you helping me, showing me the way, laughing at me when I got things wrong? Yeah, there are bad things. Things that you wish you could forget and things that you’re _afraid_ of forgetting. But there’s the good, too. You have to remember that, too.”

“It’s different,” Tony replies, shaking his head. “There’s nothing good about this. Except you, of course, but everything else…”

“Then I’ll just have to be worth all the rest, won’t I?” Steve asks with a small smile. He almost looks _shy_ and Tony’s about to ask what the hell is up with that, except he can’t. Because then Steve is pulling him closer, until their noses are brushing, until their lips are pressed against each other.

Tony kisses back on reflex, because when Captain America is _kissing_ you, there’s only really one acceptable response. His brain kind of turns to mush.

“What,” he breathes when they briefly pull apart. He’s sure he tried to communicate his complete confusion through his tone, but he just sounds dazed. Steve kisses him again and Tony can _feel_ him smiling.

“I’ve been waiting,” Steve murmurs, pulling away further this time, “a few _weeks_ for you to get the hint. Here I thought you were the smartest guy around.”

“I am,” Tony says. And, because he’s still confused, “ _What_?”

“Tony.” There’s amusement in Steve’s voice, in his eyes. His thumb brushes across Tony’s lower lip, the gesture affectionate and intimate.

He doesn’t need to say any more, because Tony suddenly gets it. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Steve echoes, grinning.

“But you and Peggy…”

“Just like you and Pepper,” Steve replies easily. “You didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell.”

Tony shakes his head in wonder. Steve’s hands are still on him, and it feels _nice_. Tony settles his own hand on Steve’s side, and his chest swells at the way Steve’s smile grows wider.

“I wasn’t sure if you…” Steve begins and then trails off, looking embarrassed. “I’ve only ever heard of you and all the women… I asked J.A.R.V.I.S.—”

“ _You asked my computer if I was bi_.” Tony says, not quite sure if he’s dreaming.

“I was too afraid to ask anyone else,” Steve admits in a small voice.

“Well, now you know.” Tony’s trying to sound casual, but he’s pretty sure he’s failing. He shifts closer to Steve, who immediately understands. They kiss again, taking their time to explore the taste and feel of each other. They kiss until Tony lies back, pulling Steve down with him. Steve shifts them around so their positions are swapped and Tony isn’t being crushed under his weight, and even that’s too long to be apart. They reach for each other again, kissing until they need to break apart for air.

Steve tucks Tony’s head under his chin and holds him close, and they lie there in silence for a moment. Then Tony clears his throat.

“You know I’m pretty damn unstable.”

“We keep each other company when we can’t sleep, because we both get nightmares in the form of flashbacks,” Steve points out, his voice as deep and calm as ever.

“And you’re an enabler. Who lets me get away with way too much.”

“Are you really arguing _against_ this, when we could be kissing instead?”

“See?” Tony raises his eyebrows. He’s excited and terrified all at once. “We could be so terrible together.”

“Or,” Steve says softly, “we could be great.”

“If this goes badly…” Tony begins, but the rest is lost in a kiss. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Tony’s pretty determined that this is going to _work_.

 

«·»

 

A few hours later, Tony blinks awake. Something feels _off_. Not particularly wrong, but different. It takes him a long moment to realize that this is the first time in months that he hasn’t woken up with a start. His heart isn’t pounding, he isn’t sweating, he’s just… awake.

And he’s lying on top of Steve, who is also sleeping deeply. Tony brushes Steve’s fringe out of his face, smiling when the arm around his waist tightens its grip.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” he whispers, lying back down, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, “hit the lights.”

 

«·»

 

Tony’s the first one in the kitchen that morning for breakfast. Usually, Bruce will be eating his toast by the time Tony and Steve wander in and if Clint and Natasha are there, they’ll be eating their bacon and scrambled eggs with terrifying efficiency.

None of them are up yet, and Tony sets about making his first mug of coffee. He’s left Steve sleeping on the couch, with a blanket. It had taken Tony a considerable amount of time to actually walk away from the sight.

He’s attempting to make scrambled eggs when he hears Steve behind him, quietly clearing his throat.

“You’re up,” Tony greets, looking over his shoulder. Steve’s hair is sleep-rumpled and it makes Tony want to run his fingers through it.

“You’re burning those poor eggs,” Steve replies, stepping closer and taking the frying pan out of Tony’s hand. He lowers the heat and sets the pan on the stove again, turning to Tony. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in a long time,” Tony replies honestly, and grins. “I think that might have had something to do with the company. You?”

Steve wears a matching grin. “Same.”

“I have this hypothesis that I’d like to test out,” Tony murmurs, crowding into Steve’s space. “If we get a few hours of decent sleep after a bit of kissing on the couch…”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Hypothesis. Right. Because you’re only interested in this for science.”

Tony gives him an innocent look, which he then ruins by leering. “I never said that now, did I? But just for the record, doing things for the sake of science is a _great_ excuse. For anything.”

“I will take that as a warning,” Steve murmurs, his hands coming up to rest on Tony’s hips. “So we’re doing this?”

“Is that even a real question?” Tony replies, kissing the corner of Steve’s mouth. He waits for Steve to turn his head before kissing him properly, wrapping his arms around those broad shoulders. He loves the way Steve’s breath hitches when Tony’s tongue slides into his mouth, he loves—

“You’re going to burn those eggs.”

They quickly break apart to find Natasha leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest, looking completely unsurprised. She goes to the table and sits down, barely giving them a second glance. “If you’re going to cook, you’d better have something done before Clint wakes up. If you get between him and his food, I guarantee you it won’t be pretty.”

“Hey,” Tony protests when she picks up his mug of coffee, “that’s mine.”

She levels him with a look that makes it entirely clear that she will fight him for it, and that she will win. Tony waves his hand in defeat, going to make more.

By the time everyone’s awake, Steve’s made enough breakfast to go around. They’re all sitting together around the table and it’s so _normal_ that Tony doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s pretty sure his life changed when Steve kissed him. Probably in a big, dramatic way. He doesn’t know how to deal with that, whether he should mention it or just wait for the others to work it out. Bruce is smart, and Clint sees things quickly. It shouldn’t take long, right?

Except then, when Steve finishes his food, he takes it to the sink, rinses it and puts it in the dishwasher before going back to the table. Instead of sitting down, he walks towards Tony. Bruce is reading the morning paper, while Clint and Natasha are talking about the mission they just completed. Nobody says anything when Steve presses a light kiss to Tony’s forehead. Bruce doesn’t look up, and Clint doesn’t stop talking. They just have a look that says they were expecting it.

Tony is actually the last person to know. He hates being the last person to know _anything_ , but this, with Steve’s hand still resting lightly on his back… this isn’t so bad. This isn’t bad at all.


End file.
